


Walking on Moonbeams, Staring Out to Sea

by shakespearespaz



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Happy Ending, Post-Series, because I had a mighty need, possibly OOC because them plus happiness is unusual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-23
Updated: 2014-05-23
Packaged: 2018-01-26 05:25:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1676369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakespearespaz/pseuds/shakespearespaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A coda of sorts, wherein the survivors find a more peaceful life to live, and the closest to a happy ending they can manage. Set after whatever new nanite craziness they teased at has died down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bass

Bass dropped the armful of firewood right inside the door, letting his eyes wander to her hunched form at the kitchen table. She had opened the kitchen window and a breeze wafted in from the cloudy but mild morning, stirring her hair. She had let it grow long, near her waist, although she wrangled it into a braid so she could work. On her nose rested broken reading glasses taped together; still, her face was mere inches away from whatever new project she was screwing together.

Rachel didn’t notice him, and he stayed silent in the open doorway.

It had taken them a while to reach this peace, since the Patriot defeat and the nanite debacle, since Miles had disappeared and they found maybe they both did better without him, since Aaron and Priscilla dragged them to their Pacific Northwest getaway and they found it easier to make a home together rather than apart, since Charlie had been appointed a town deputy and started raising her own daughter in the blue clapboard house at the bottom of the hill.

Domesticity had sounded boring, just like running a nation had sounded thrilling. He didn’t deserve it—their trust, their forgiveness, a home that looked like a second Eden—but when Miles had given him another chance, it twisted awake a part of him that had been asleep for a long time. It was the part that followed their bleeding hearts into selfless danger, the part that looked at Rachel and knew the pain of a found and lost son, the part that had one day stared down at his calloused hands and begun to tally the dead.

It took reluctant proximity, from hearing Rachel stir herself awake with nightmares to finding Charlie curled stilly at their kitchen table on Jason’s death day to watching Aaron disappear solemn and alone on the Fourth of July, for their similarity to strike him. Healing was a process, not automatic, and when they managed to bring the hatred and the judgment to a simmer, he forced himself to study how they coped, and grudging hope for something better began to take root.

Maybe none of them deserved this, but in a worn cabin on an island in the Puget Sound, maybe life could be more than the sum of their failures.

“Did you see Charlie?” Rachel’s light voice caught him by surprise.

She reached to take off her glasses, getting them tangled in her hair in the process. He suppressed a grin and went over to her.

“No, I didn’t. Can I help?”

“Yes, thank you.” With her permission, he started delicately attempting to unwind the knotted hair. “She said she might have some cherry tomatoes for us, since that damn rabbit made a feast of ours.” The wire frame came loose from the blonde strands and he handed it back to her. She made a small sound of thanks.

“If you insist on turning the kitchen table into your workshop,” he said, “maybe we could at least invest in some new glasses.”

“These work just fine, Bass.”

“They’re broken.”

She stood, the chair scraping against the floor, and began to put her things back into the wood apple box she kept them in.

“Maybe I like broken.”

He let a smirk break through as he turned to the kitchen counter and cupboards. Rachel was an odd roommate, although not in the ways that he would have guessed. All of them had developed a tendency to collect random stuff, probably a reaction to living on the move so long with so little. Where Charlie collected pretty things, like perfect Nautilus shells and artful driftwood and a postcard collage on her pantry door, Rachel brought home weird things: glass bottles with Japanese characters, broken shells with holes drilled through them, rocks with patterns only she could see. She lined the mantel of their fireplace with them and he didn’t protest; neither of them had any interior decorating skills to begin with.

“What’s for dinner?” She was at his elbow. He had brought out homegrown lettuce and carrots, and was just beginning to chop.

“Salad, with chicken.”

She made another quiet sound, and before he could tell her that if she didn’t like dinner she could find her own, she spoke.

“Do you think we’ll see him again?”

He knew who she meant immediately, but he twisted his head to her in surprise. Her blue eyes, so like his, were fixated out the window over the defunct sink, on their small home’s view of the yellow green meadow sweeping down to meet the pines and evergreens bordering the blue grey bay.

“Rachel, can we not do this now?” He didn’t want to have this conversation because he had had it with himself a hundred times.

“He runs when faced with anything. Conflict, commitment, loss.” They both knew that, and Bass found himself nodding. Rachel continued, “I just thought six years would be long enough for him to sort it out.”

It was better he say it than her. “Unless he’s dead.”

“At least knowing that would be better than the uncertainty.” She cleared her throat and although his mind was far from quiet, he let her change the subject. “I can head to Charlie’s and pick up the tomatoes so we can spice up the salad a bit.”

Rachel gave him a light pat on the arm and headed towards the door, grabbing her small backpack hanging by the door.

“Oh, and Rachel—” She whipped her head back to him. “If he does come back, he’s all mine.”

A devilish grin broke across her face, one that seemed far younger than she. She called playfully as she pulled her bike out from under the eaves. “No way. The deal was we share. You can get weekends and every other holiday…”

Her voice faded away with the sound of displaced gravel under her tires as she pulled out the driveway. Bass watched her fly down the cracked concrete once she hit the main road, hair trailing behind her, before she drifted into the forest and out of sight.

There was still a long way to go, but he’d found an unlikely companion.


	2. Aaron

Aaron watched the sun break across the water and figured that for an unpredictable spring day, the weather might actually come around. From the cliff, the fir trees parted just right to provide a view of the passage, and from the weathered, rusty bench, he could watch the boat and wildlife traffic below.

Priscilla knew where to find him if he was needed, but she was busy walking the girls to school. Some days he made the trek to the red, classic schoolhouse as a substitute teacher. The hodgepodge classroom composed of kids of all ages had decided him the best storyteller on the island, and some days their enthusiasm and creativity were the best comfort he had found in a long time. Other days, the dusty smell of chalk only served to remind him of Cynthia.

The final battle had left all of them bruised, bloody and alone in the middle of the Plains nations, victorious but the losses stifling them with the feeling of defeat—Neville, Connor, Gene, to name a few. Aaron was more than done, and he truly took lead for what felt like the first time, heading to where perhaps they could finally collapse exhausted, and rest in peace. He had meant to settle them into their multi-million dollar mansion on the beach, but standing in the wrecked modern entry hall, he realized how far he was from the man who had bought the biggest house he could, just because he could. They went to an island further north, where it was less crowded, and they all spread out in the same five miles radius, reclaiming abandoned homes.

He needed to help Priscilla with the laundry and it would take him a good quarter of an hour to get back. Aaron stood, finding his balance on his peg leg; their friends weren’t the only thing the war with the nanites had taken from them. Rachel had held him steady through the amputation, her grim face swimming through his tears of pain whenever he managed to squeeze open his eyes.

He started gently on the wooded trail back home, wondering if maybe the strawberries would ripen soon. They usually bloomed early, and he and Priscilla had perfected a mean strawberry rhubarb crisp; he could probably trade Emily at the dairy some extra tutoring hours with her son for some extra cream and he could throw together some ice cream. Charlie would love the ice cream and Priscilla would love having people over and he—he had to admit that he missed everyone.

Aaron wasn’t a people person; he did his own thing and expected to be left alone. If the Blackout had taught him anything though, it was that community was not always bad. After living and fighting and losing most everything they thought they cared about together, it was hard to walk away from that bond. He could understand why Bass and Miles, or Rachel and Miles, or Charlie and Rachel still clung to each other after years of damage; it was easy to say you hated someone, but harder to say that you never wanted to see them again, especially in a world where never seeing them again was a terrifying possibility.

The trail took a steep incline and the hill began, their white and bright Victorian house waiting at the top. Aaron wanted to say that he had grown to appreciation the exertion, but the truth was he still hated physical work, unlike Rachel and Charlie, who remained enthusiastic about biking or swimming or canoeing.

He worried about Rachel, living with the man who had taken such a mental toll on her for so many years. It had been her choice though, deciding to move in with him to give Charlie some space. Besides, they did share a grandchild.

He finally reached the crest of the hill, out of breath, pausing to appreciate the white-capped mountains trying to break through the morning grey across the Sound. The walk was part of his morning routine, and when he stopped here, he let it wash over him, the increasingly less foreign sensation of content.

“Aaron!” He swiveled to find Priscilla on their back porch, wrapped in a grey hand knit shawl. “Come here!”

Aaron headed towards her, taking in her wide smile. It was imperfect and genuine, and even better, rare, which helped him banish nightmares of nanite-controlled Priscilla.

“The girls okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, still had to listen to them complain that they’re too old for school, and that some of their friends are already out looking for work.”

Aaron smiled a touch too. “What did you tell them?”

“That we’d talk about it over the summer.” She plodded down the back steps towards him. “That’s not what I needed to tell you though.”

He met her in the middle of their backyard garden, cucumber vines escaping their planter box twisting around their feet.

“What?”

“I need to tell you that I love you.”

Aaron sneezed. Then he sneezed again, and again. “Sorry,” he sniffled, “Allergies. I, uh, love you too.”

She gave him a light peck on the cheek. “We better get you inside then.” She wrapped an arm around his shoulder and they started finding their way back to the open door.

“Oh, and Aaron?”

“Yeah?” He sounded congested.

“I also had to tell you I ran into Charlie in town. Miles is back.”


	3. Miles

Miles didn’t like the outdoors, and except for a searing hatred of heat and humidity, he didn’t really give a crap about the weather either. Still, he had to hand it to his friends. Standing on the front bow of a repurposed, steam powered ferry boat as it broke through the grey water, this place was quite pretty. 

True, it smelled a little bit like fish. That was probably his own fault he though, as he shifted the package he’d brought for them into his bad hand. Salmon was very Pacific Northwest, right? Maybe he should have brought Bass a bass, but even though Miles was older, surely he wasn’t that uncool.

He’d missed a lot, and he wasn’t even one hundred percent sure they were still here. After the injury he’d scribbled a letter to Charlie in handwriting akin to kindergartener and sent it with a supposedly legit postal service. Who knew if it had even reached them?

Maybe it was pretty here, with the golden sun slowly peeking through the clouds as they cleared, alternating warm dabbles of sunlight with a crisp ocean breeze, but it confirmed for him why he had left. He could never be trapped on an island, ambitious less and drinking himself to death. He was not meant for the quaint lifestyle of some pre-urban adorable cottages by the sea, living off the land and eating his vegetables.

He could see Bass here, and Charlie, and even Rachel, salty sea spray curling her hair, her exploring inlets and coves and returning home to a land that was fertile and green, sharing a house, a kitchen, a bed with—. The point was she would be free, from him at least.

God, he sucked at self-delusion.

As the ferry drifted gently to the dock, he wished he’d brought along some liquid courage, although through painful self-control he had stopped drinking for that purpose.

The truth was that he saw Rachel in this perfect, idyllic life whenever he let his mind drift. He saw all of them—Charlie, Bass, even Aaron—and he wanted more than anything to be with them. He had run away though, after Charlie had told him that he and Rachel deserved to be happy. Everything he had dreamt about was in reach, he only had to try, but the possibility of being so close froze him where he stood.

He knew they hated him, for how could they not. Still, deep down in emotional territory he rarely ventured to, he had to expect something. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be walking off the rocking boat onto the solid island ground those he pined for called home. 

And there she was.

Charlie stood on the cracked concrete, as wagons, buggies, horses and people loaded with supplies from the city proper filed off around her. Her long hair had been chopped into a bob, which was pulled back into an attempted ponytail to leave a few pieces framing her face.

Miles was struck by how much she looked like her mother, but also by how much she didn’t. She smiled with attitude and gave him a small wave, and he realized what it was. She looked happy.

When he finally found his feet again, he hastened towards her, dropping his bag and package on the curb. She hugged him first, a bear hug that lasted far too long. She smelled like evergreen and dirt and the beach and he couldn’t figure out how he had ever refused this.

“We were wondering when you would come to your senses.” Miles could only nod. Emotions he didn’t do well, and he found confusing ones tangled and heavy in his chest. “Come on. Little T’s at school, but I’m just on call for the afternoon. You can meet the roommate and the dogs, and then we can head up to Mom’s.”

She reached for his bag, but he grabbed it first. They began the trek up the potholed road through the main part of town.

“So you got my letter I take it?” Miles wasn’t sure what else to say.

“I got it.” She paused. “I didn’t tell the others about it.”

“Oh, you—uh…why?” His toe hit a pebble and it skittered across the sidewalk.

Charlie let out a noisy huff and he wasn’t sure if it was from the climb or frustration.

“Because I wasn’t going to get their hopes up. So that if you didn’t show, they wouldn’t get hurt again.”

His heart felt crushed; so they did hate him. He stopped in the middle of incline, Charlie turning around to see what the problem was.

“I—I’m sorry, Charlie. I shouldn’t have come.”

She rested her hands on her hips defiantly and looked down at him from her higher elevation.

“God, Miles, what’s the problem?”

“No one wants me here, which I knew before even coming. So I’ll just go back—”

“Lord, you’re an idiot.” She walked down to him, reaching out to find his arm. “Was that what I said, Miles? No, in fact I said the opposite. You know that you’ve always had a place with us, only you’ve never felt like you deserve it. Well, guess who also doesn’t think they deserve a place here: Bass, my mom, Aaron. Hell, most of the time I think of the people I killed and I don’t think I deserve my sweet little girl. The point is it’s not about you, Miles. It’s about being there for the people you love and making it work.”

Miles managed a nod.

“Are you coming or not?”

He didn’t trust his voice, but he had to. “Yes, yes, I’m coming.”

“Good.” Charlie linked arms with him playfully and forced them to keep moving. “I need to get back and feed Nora.”

“Nora?”

“She’s my black lab.”

Miles made a face. “You named a dog after my dead girlfriend?”

Sky blue eyes rolled back towards him. “She was far more than just _your_ girlfriend, Miles.”


	4. Charlie

The sky had cleared, but the canopy of dark and emerald green overhead only let patches of sunlight through, creating a damp and cool retreat as they followed the road silently. This stretch of road was Charlie’s favorite place, like being wrapped in a protective dome of nature, before emerging into the calming and open field where Bass and her mother’s cabin sat.

Peace was never something she thought she’d find, and if she was honest with herself, her life was still hectic. Tara was turning six in June, she had new responsibilities at her job, post-Blackout life was as much as work as it had always been, and she and her roommate Sarah had an inability to stop adopting stray dogs. Charlie also thrived in the chaos though, and although sometimes enforcing the law on the island was a bit dangerous, it was nice to know that you would probably make it through the week in one piece.

Out here, it was easier to let the rage and hatred go too. To feel squishy mud flats between your toes and to laugh as your child chased after a crab helped her to realize that although the pain might never go away, it was okay to learn to live with it.

The walk through the woods, which Miles seemed to be enjoying because he was able to let out some anxiety as he violently kicked pinecones about, was also her favorite because it connected her to her mother. When she learned she was pregnant, she thought she could do it on her own. Then they lost Connor, and then she had to watch her mother lose it over her grandfather’s dead body. Something clicked when watching daughter grieve over father, and Charlie realized that Rachel had been the same age as her when she had had her. Charlie didn’t want blood and war and torture for her daughter, and they slowly began to build on common ground.

Miles kicked a particularly dry pinecone and it broke against a tree. “So, uh…your mother and Bass…”

“They’re not together, they’re just living together.”

“Okay…can I live with them?”

“Hold your horses, you haven’t even seen them yet.” Charlie laughed. “Don’t tell them I said this, but probably yes. I stay over all the time, and they babysit Little T. Bass loves her and Mom, well, Mom has a Mozart record that she plays and is hoping to start teaching her algebra by next year.”

They came out of the tree cover and Charlie nodded at the small ivy covered cabin at the crest of the hill.

“That’s them.”

She swore Miles stood gaping and she had to give him a slight nudge to get him moving again. A figure appeared coming towards them, and Charlie figured out that it was Aaron by the off kilter gait. They met him at the base of the driveway, and Charlie greeted Aaron with a hug.

Aaron looked Miles over in disbelief. “Well,” he finally said, “You got old.”

Miles smirked. “So did you. It’s surprisingly good to see you, Aaron. None of these kids understand my references anymore.”

“Hey,” Charlie protested, “I know _Star Wars._ It’s Aaron’s favorite with the kids. Right, Aaron?”

“Yeah,” Aaron replied, still a looking a little shocked, “I..um…Rachel will be happy to see you, Miles.”

To break up the awkward, Charlie started herding them up the driveway.

“Hey, Sebastian!” Charlie bellowed towards the house. All windows had been opened to let in the beautiful day, so she figured he could hear her.

His muffled reply came from inside, accompanied by the sound of boots on the stairs. “Jesus Christ, Charlotte, don’t yell. What have I said about yelling?” The sound of his voice moved through the kitchen and out the door. “It startles the chickens, and then Rachel, little miss chicken whisperer, gets all up in my case—”

It looked for a moment like all the life had been sucked out of him, and Bass grew deathly still at the sight of Miles. And then, just like someone flicking a switch, all the life came pouring back in.

“Miles.” He was breathless, and he closed the distance and threw two sweaty arms around Mile’s tall frame without thinking.

“Hey, brother.”

“I came back to you, and it was about flipping time you came back to me.”

Miles pulled away and made a questioning face. “Flipping?”

Bass chuckled, “Sorry, bad habit.”

“Good habit,” Charlie corrected, “There’s a corruptible young mind running around and you two will behave yourselves.”

The screech of tires on concrete wailed behind her and Charlie jerked around at the sound. Her mother stood at the base of the driveway, long legs stretched over her old-fashioned bike, staring. Only the birds in the trees and the occasional squawk of a chicken could be heard, as Rachel dismounted and slowly walked up the driveway.

“Hey, Charlie.”

“Mom.”

“Aaron.”

Aaron was silent. She kept walking, the crunch of her feet the only sound, and stopped in front of Miles.

“Hey, Miles.”

“I, uh—” He reached down to the package he had been lugging around and offered it triumphantly. “—brought some fish. Salmon, probably needs to get in the icebox—”  

Charlie could see a smile begin to tug at Rachel’s lips. Still, Rachel shook her head and said, “You know what? You know what you are, Miles? You’re a dick, Miles. You—you disappear on us for six years, and then think it’s okay to show your—your stupid face because what? Because you brought us a fish?”

“Rachel, I—”

“You know what? I don’t even like fish. It tastes like—like death—”

“That’s a lie,” Bass cut in, “She would shank someone for some of Priscilla’s tuna salad. No offense to past history intended, Rache.”

Charlie watched as Rachel glared at Bass. Then she turned, hesitated, and shoved Miles lightly, and then again, and again. He stood there and took it, until finally, on the last shove, she grabbed his shirt, pulled him in and kissed him. His hands found her hair, and they seemed to forget that they weren’t alone.

Bass wolf-whistled until Charlie threw a handful of gravel at him.


	5. Rachel

“It’s nothing,” Miles argued. Rachel tilted her head back to look up at him. He had to know that he wasn’t going to win this one. “I got it caught in—nah, it’s a long story and pretty gross. I can still do a lot, just can’t really hold a sword.”

She wrapped her hand around his, gently moving his stiff joints. “You should use your fingers more,” she suggested, “It might get better.”

His mouth nuzzled near her ear. “And what do you think I should do with my fingers?”

“Ewww, Mom and Miles, that’s gross. I didn’t need to hear that.” Charlie lounged on the wicker chair on their patio, finishing off the plate of vegetables from their backyard dinner. Rachel and Miles were practically sitting in each other’s laps on a blanket on the grass.

She chucked a cherry tomato at them, which Miles caught deftly in his injured hand. Charlie looked impressed, until he fed it to Rachel, and then she just rolled her eyes.

“Okay, as much as I support this relationship, I don’t need to know about your sex life.” She pushed herself up and out of the chair, slipping a pair of well-loved Keds on. “I’ll go save Bass from the T-monster, so you two can…do whatever. It’s past her bedtime anyway.” She barely managed to suppress a yawn. “And mine too.”

She swooped over and gave Rachel a quick kiss on the head. “Goodnight, love,” Rachel said.

“Night, mom. And Miles.” She furrowed her brow. “I’m going to have to get used to that.”

They listened to her disappear into the house to find Bass, the old back door squeaking shut. The sun had gone down over an hour ago and the temperature had dropped dramatically. It was too early for crickets, so the night was chilly and quiet.

Rachel shivered against Miles and he leaned forward to wrap his arms around her.

“What are you thinking about?”

She traced patterns on his hand. “Did you know that the Puget Sound was carved 26,000 years ago by glacial activity?”

“So you became a geologist while I was away?”

Not exactly. Small town America life had fallen back on more traditions than just self-subsistence, and so Sundays went back to being consumed by fairly conservative religious observation.  She couldn’t deal with the usual clapboard church and droning sermons any more than she could before the Blackout, but she still felt the urge to leave the house when everyone else emptied theirs. Most rainy Sundays found her in the revived public library, local history, geology and biology quickly becoming her favorite sections.

“Modern homo sapiens have only been around for 200,000 years,” she continued, “The Earth is over 4.5 billion years old, the universe around 14 billion. I mean, chew on that.”

“Okay, I’m chewing.”

She exhaled and relaxed back into him. What she was trying to say was that once obscurity had frightened her. Just being another of the 7 billion people on this planet, without leaving her mark somehow made her feel tiny and helpless. Now tiny was far more comforting. The human race had lived through volcanic eruptions and slight fluctuations in global temperatures that would have ravished other life forms. Many had died during catastrophic events, but the rest plodded on. Humans were adaptable and resilient, but at the same time, so utterly tiny in the context of everything.

“We make meaning out of our lives, we think we’re important, and that matters. But at the same time, we don’t matter. We’ve barely been alive for a second of the universe’s life.”

“Uh huh.”

The back door swung open with a creak and the dark figure could only be Bass. He sauntered over to them.

“What are you two up to?”

“Pondering our insignificance,” Miles replied, “So, the usual.”

“That was quick. Mind if I join you? I could use a good existential crisis.”

Rachel nodded welcomingly. If she actually felt up to doing anything with Miles, Bass would be banished to the porch for the night. It had been six years though, and both she and Miles knew that a single passionate kiss did not excuse it all; there were many conversations left to be had.

“Here, let me show you something.” She scooted away from Miles, so she could lie down, indicating for the boys—she briefly let herself think of them as her boys—to follow. She heard Bass breathe in sharply once they made it down.

The sky had cleared completely of clouds.

Lying on her back, she could look up at the brilliant, starry array, the Milky Way painted impressively with purples and blues across the view, thanks to the absence of city lights. The pinpricks of light were a shining example, billions of tiny suns and worlds blinking absently back at her. She dug her toes into the scratchy and cool grass beneath her feet, and felt simultaneously grounded and disconnected.

“Okay,” Miles said softly next to her, “I see what you mean.”

After her mental break, she had made it point to look at the stars whenever she had the chance. It not only helped her focus on the bigger picture, but also put her pain into perspective. The stars weren’t cold, they were friends and seemed to say ‘don’t worry you’re one of us,’ but also reminded ‘don’t forget, you’re only one of us.’

Sometimes she could see why she had to justify that she wasn’t crazy.

“Yeah, I feel it, Rache,” Bass said, “The universe doesn’t really care that I was an evil dictator, that I like crappy rock n’ roll, that I pushed away everything I love, that I take my eggs over-easy.”

Rachel threaded her fingers with his.

“You take your eggs over-easy?” Miles sounded incredulous.

“Yeah,” Rachel confirmed for him.

“I thought you liked them scrambled.”

“Clearly, you’ve missed some things,” Bass replied quietly.

Rachel inched her head over so she could rest it on Miles’ broad shoulder, and he shifted his arm to reach around her, landing it inches above her hand still locked with Bass’.

“Look.” Rachel reached up her free hand to point. “That brighter, orangish one, that’s Mars.”

She felt Miles breathe into her hair and she knew he wasn’t looking at the sky. Bass was still looking up though, his arm relaxed against hers.

“Want to hear about Mars?”

“Sure, Rachel.” Bass sounded almost excited, while Rachel was sure Miles might be close to sleep. It didn’t really matter. They still had plenty of time left together.

A sweet-smelling breeze that hinted warmer days wafted over them, and Rachel took a deep breath of the fresh air.

“Mars is made mostly of basalt, an igneous rock,” she began, “It once had a lot of water, with oceans and rivers and lakes, just like Earth…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I coped with the abrupt ending of the show by making my happy place their happy place. Hopefully this wasn't too confusing or sentimental or boring or what not and thank you for reading!


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